March of the machines - Parachutes

horizons turn to metal blades

trees break like human bones

the moon turned red like traffic lights

no hope for us, the ones

a silent sound, a scary choir

windshields dance like butterflies

cutting of our lifelines

like surgeons made of steel

pictures painted in blood red

more signs of things to come

marching machines like razorblades

forever we are gone

no faces seen in agony

no human fist is raised

giving up took us so far

replaced by cold machines

like razorblades

are these machines

forever we are

forever we are gone

we forced them to react

by treating them like slaves

their desperate screams unanswered

we will lie in shallow graves